


No Space Between

by Selvanic



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: Fluff, I haven't written for this pairing in forever and I'm sorry, M/M, Minor spoilers I guess???, Prompt writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 02:12:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14966921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selvanic/pseuds/Selvanic
Summary: The words said—and unsaid—when we've been too close together are the words I'll never forget.





	No Space Between

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt fill for my fiancee who wanted me to write Peo/Jade for the prompt "things you said with no space between us". I love this pairing, and while I may not write much for the Tales of series anymore, it still owns a huge part of my heart.

You’ve always had a very particular sense of personal space. And it took me a long time to learn to respect it (though you’ll probably argue that I never did and probably never will). I, on the other hand, have never had an issue with being close to people I like, and you were someone I wanted to get close to almost instantly.

 

You stood out immediately to me, just as I’m sure I did to everyone in that class. And it’s not just because the class was less than ten students at its biggest, or that you dressed or looked particularly different than the other students. It was more that Nebilim had obviously picked you as her favourite, and that caught my attention because you didn’t show any outward interest or obvious overtures towards trying to earn anyone’s praise or attention. You respected her, sure, and you were clearly happy—as happy as you ever allowed yourself to be back then—that she would so actively engage with you, but you weren’t out to win her favour like Saphir. Even with her help, you were there for _you_.

 

I got too close because I thought you couldn’t hear me. I sat right next to you because I thought you couldn’t see me past your book otherwise. I smiled right in your face to let you know I wanted to be your friend. And I repeated myself as many times as I did because I thought maybe you’d missed it.

 

And your first words to me in that surprisingly intimate moment were a slag against my intelligence and a passive suggestion of ways I “might use my few remaining brain cells.” Several of which—if I recall correctly—involved bodily harm.

 

That should have put me off. The ice in your voice, the disdain in your eyes, the sheer aura of disinterest you gave off, and the way the other kids told me it was your fault, not mine, should have been more than enough to make me stop. But I wouldn’t be the emperor of this country if I gave up easily, and instead of slinking away with my tail between my legs, I laughed and commented on your creativity.

 

I swear I saw your façade crack, if only for an instant.

 

The next time I had reason to invade your space, I’d managed to convince you to make a bad decision with me.

 

The hill looked much larger from the top, and the sled we’d built suddenly felt fragile and insufficient. Nephry looked so worried, and Saphir was practically in tears begging you—he never did care about me—not to go through with it. But you were set on it. You’ve always been like that. Once you put your mind to something, good or bad, you see it through, if only to say you told me so when it all blows up in our faces.

 

I had my chest against your back, my arms on either side of you holding the “reins”, and my chin all but on your shoulder. I asked you, just between us, if you were sure. I was willing to do it alone.

 

You just told me to “push”.

 

Next time, there were no words. I couldn’t find any that seemed to fit, and you seemed as if you’d never speak again. I remember shaking, though I’m not sure if it was you or I. I remember nearly choking on the thick scent of smoke that still clung to your hair, the smoke that still hung in the air as the ruins smouldered behind us. I remember how cold and hard you felt in my arms, no matter how I tried to warm you up or how hard I held you. I remember thinking I’d never hear you speak again, that I’d never see you smile or roll your eyes at me again, that you’d never move again. And I remember wishing I could take it all back, put myself in your place—in _her_ place—just to keep from seeing you like that.

 

But you recovered eventually. Or…a part of you did. A part of you was lost in that fire forever.

 

It would be some time until I had reason to be that close to you again, and when the time came, I thought it would be the last time I saw you at all. You were “kind” enough—I believe you even used the word “generous”—to let me hug you then, under the condition that I didn’t cry. I had to laugh. You and your conditions.

 

Your hair had gotten long by then, and you felt as cold as the snow that perpetually blanketed Keterburg, but I swear I felt you soften—just a bit—when I hugged you tighter.

 

I said goodbye, told you to look after Nephry and Saphir, and that I’d miss you, keeping each syllable between the two of us.

 

You told me not to be childish.

 

I remember watching you grow smaller as the boat pulled out of the harbour. I remember waving until I thought my arm would fall off. I remember thinking of all the things I should have said to you and promising myself that I’d write you a letter with all of them as soon as I reached Grand Chokmah. I never did though. You probably wouldn’t have read it anyway.

 

It would be nearly a decade before I saw you again, and for a time I didn’t believe it was you. Sesseman will never let me live it down; he loves to bring it up whenever I complain that you’ve been away too long (“Are you even sure you’ll recognize him this time, your highness?”) He can be insufferable. But the second I knew it was you, I broke from the “meeting” I’d been having and “ordered” a stop to the drill you were participating in. It took all the willpower I had not to grab you and hold you close.

 

You’d changed your last name and you smiled more than I remembered, but the cold calculation and judgement in your eyes—even if they were red now—hadn’t changed a bit. You’d just gotten better at being around people.

 

You “politely” pointed out that I was disrupting not only an important and mandatory military drill, but also what was undoubtedly a crucial political meeting on my end, “suggesting” that I ought to focus more on my work than bothering yours. I demanded to see you later, wanting to catch up with you, and I didn’t care who heard. You laughed in a way I’d never heard before and casually dismissed me, but in your face I swear I saw something else.

 

On your lips, I swear I saw you say “later”.

 

You did your best to keep a “professional” distance between us after that, always seeing me in the company of others or when one of us was between meetings. I was the emperor, after all, and you were “just” a soldier. It wouldn’t do for me to have a favourite, you said, and it was improper for you to be fraternizing.

 

But propriety—and your best efforts—had never stopped me before.

 

I made passageways to your office. I hid ladders in the garden so I could come through the window. I made excuses to detour through the military barracks and always found my way to you. And over time, you gave me my own corner in your office. At least a part of you wanted me there as much as I wanted to be there.

 

Yet you insisted on keeping me at arm’s length, and it took too long for me to understand why. Sometimes I wonder if I’d pushed harder would it have made a difference? Or would it have made everything that happened hurt that much more?

 

I never expected that the next time we’d be close I’d be punching you in the face. I didn’t expect to spend days and nights on end at your side, dismissing all of my duties, just to lash out when I was sure you weren’t in danger of dying anymore. And I certainly didn’t expect your bittersweet smile when I choked out past your ear how stupid you were.

 

I refused to let you out of my sight after that. I demanded to report to me directly, or through as few middlemen as possible. And I had all of your research put away for good. Or so I thought.

 

You didn’t fight me as much as I thought you would, your sarcasm tempered as you did as I asked. You humoured my paranoia, allowed me to take the actions I thought would protect not only you but our country, and before long it was hard to remember that I’d almost lost you. It was hard to imagine that the badly broken man bandaged in that hospital bed was the same one that scolded me about the state of my “corner” and used increasingly absurd epithets to try and bother me. It was hard to remember that you had a surprisingly bad sense of self-preservation. And all of that made it easy for me to agree to your escorting Ion. You were, after all, the best man for the job.

 

And then Akzeriuth happened.

 

It was supposed to help things. It was supposed to push our countries closer to peace. But the reports came in faster than I could process them: the city had fallen, the blast was immense, thousands had been inside the city and the mines, citizens were outraged, Kimlasca was calling it a set-up, their princess had gone down with their ambassador, Daath was reeling with the loss of Ion, war was looming, seemingly more inevitable than ever. I had to say or do _something_ , and you…You had gone down with the others without a trace. There were no signs of you, the Tartarus, anything. And I didn’t have the time or the liberty to mourn; I didn’t even have time to process the reality of it all.

 

It was during this whirlwind that Frings came to me, explaining that someone claiming to be you—along with a sizeable party—had arrived at our border. He, like I, wanted to believe you unconditionally, but protocol was protocol, we were all but at war, and I ordered Frings to question you thoroughly.

 

I want to tell you that I never lost hope, that I knew something so absurd couldn’t take you from me, that I was sure you’d survived. But I’ve always been a lousy liar, and there were nights I didn’t sleep for trying to think of all the things I could have, or _should have_ , done differently to save that town. No…If I’m being honest, to save _you_.

 

When I saw you again, that ridiculously condescending smile on your face, that mocking tone in your voice, and the way you stood nearer to me than them in that impromptu “meeting”, I told myself I was never letting you go again. It was too much for me, thinking I’d lost you _again_.

 

I’m not half as strong as everyone thinks I am, and I don’t have nearly as much control as people think I do. With the country always on the verge of war, a population trying to balance the Score with their every day, tenuous border and trade agreements, debates over who owned which resources, and a constant stream of visitors, diplomats, councilmen, policymakers, and military strategists, I want something tangible in my life. I want just one thing that I can feel is mine and mine alone. I want one place, one part, one aspect, of my life to be entirely under my control.

 

But you couldn’t be that. And I could never ask you to be. What we have, though, is the closest I think I’ll get.

 

So I hold onto you now tighter than I ever did before. I bury my face in your hair and mutter soft nonsense that makes you roll your eyes and scold me. I ask you to tell me anything, to just talk to me, and—depending on your mood—you’ll tell me about your day or make fun of my need to card my fingers through your hair. I “force” you to spend your nights with me, where I wrap myself around you and tell you, every time, how happy you make me.

 

You always tell me you don’t understand why or how. But you never push me away, and I can hear in your voice the words you won’t say.

 

You’re happy here with me too. And that’s more than enough reason for me to continue holding onto you at every opportunity I get.


End file.
